"This place is... broken. It is a land of twisted time and distorted sky — the space between the tick and the tock. Space itself snaps and falls into an endless, neverending abyss from which there is no recovery. You could walk with eyes closed and never touch walls; it is only in the viewing of walls that there are walls at all."

"This place we're flying over now isn't in the atlas, is it?" the pilot said, grinning. "You're darn right it isn't in the atlas!" cried the head of the Air Force. "We've flown clear off the last page!"

"Imagine a crown of thorns, twisted, dark and unreflective, grown too thickly tangled to ever rest on any human head. Put it in orbit around a failed star whose own reflected half-light does little more than throw its satellites into silhouette. Occasional bloody highlights glinted like dim embers from its twists and crannies; they only emphasized the darkness everywhere else.

Imagine an artefact that embodies the very notion of torture, something so wrenched and disfigured that even across uncounted lightyears and unimaginable differences in biology and outlook, you can't help but feel that somehow, the structure itself is in pain.

"Ah yes, the mysterious, timeless non-space that lies between the planes. Okay. First imagine the square root of a negative number. Then picture an eleventh-dimensional solid with that many sides that is somehow humming the Flight of the Bumblebee backwards. Then stuff that whole theoretical construct into a temporal bottle rocket and fire it into a sped-up Big Bang of unfettered imagination, and then squash it down to a momentary singularity of nothingness that is somehow simultaneously infinite and eternal at the same time, and somehow both a specific place and the exact opposite of whereness at the same time, and then add a dollop of nacho cheese. Then give up trying to build a mental image of the Blind Eternities because nuh-uh."

"To stand inside of the Starwood at night is be embraced by an infinite universe. Along this former shoreline, the trees stretch skyward and grow taller than anywhere else. At night, they blossom and reveal millions of flowers winking in the moonlight like so many stars. It is a place for inspiration and thought. Many dragons discover their genius here, but many more become lost to the dangers hidden in its beauty."

Magnus the Red: Ohohoho, little goldensparkle, it is much, MUCH, more than that. Every single thought or feeling you have ever had, both consciously and subconsciously, becomes reality in the Warp. Every single human emotion becomes a power. Every single metaphor becomes a literal meaning. Everyone's wishes, dreams, desires, fears, and nightmares are incarnated. Of course, the reason the Warp is so corrosive and horrifying is because so many conflicting and contradicting ideas are floating around inside of it.

Deep within the Black Moon, the Egg of Lilith, the Warp bled out into reality, creating the perfect gestation grounds for the beings within. In this seething cauldron of unreality, things had many layers, and viewing things from different angles could have a profound effect on what was seen.

Just a few light years away they could see the Thanatos Anomaly, a colossal battle wound in the fabric of reality. Exposed vortex streams twisted and churned in Gordian knots, while planets, systems, and galaxies formed, aged, dispersed, and re-formed while billions of years of time passed and rewound.

R'yleh was nothing more than a dream forced into reality, a memory of a place long destroyed - reduced to dust by the dream's creator, in his arrogance and power. And now the dream was over and reality surged in, and the laws of Earth asserted themselves. Buildings which twisted through five dimensions suddenly were confined to three, and fell in chunks or crumbled to dust or toppled over because the supports in the fifth dimension were no more. The very ground below it evaported or inverted or became one-dimensional threads which snapped under the weight.

The closest words I could use to describe the things we felt in this room would be to imagine yourself strapped down, your eyes forcefully peeled open, and a morbidly bright, blood-red light shining directly into your eyes at all time. All the while, the only things you can feel are your nails being ripped out, chainsaws revving up in your ears, hundreds of people screaming in hatred and abject rage, the feeling of some primeval, shapeless nightmare getting closer and closer, anticipating the moment it finally reaches you and does something horrible. Something you can't imagine because it is simply beyond the reach of human imagination. It was fucking violation of the senses. It was fury, and pain, broken teeth, bags of rotted flesh beating against the wall, gunfire, splintering bones, drills in kneecaps and the slaughter of animals, burning fire and savage rape, every unpleasant sensation and unknown fear man had ever known and yet to discover. We felt that all in a goddamned second. Mint was already starting to scream. They'd turned back and opened the door, but just like in the Slaughterhouse, the grocery store had vanished. The only thing we saw within was more of the Mad Room. They were cubed rooms, or at least they were trying to be cubed, trying to form shapes you could walk into. There were things in the corners of the room, shuffling, collapsing and reforming, trying to attain solid matter but utterly failing. I wasn't sure it if was a trick on the eyes or if it was real. Something told me it was both; some half-formed thought somehow having been driven out of someone's mind and trying desperately to attain physical form but failing wretchedly. Mint immediately huddled to me, and the resultant desire to protect them was the only thing I felt that wasn't screaming at me and trying to drive me off the edge.

Clara: Where is it? The TARDIS:[beeps innocently]Clara: I know what just happened. I went to the bathroom - thank you for the hologram leopard by the way, an unexpected pleasure - and my bedroom was COMPLETELY missing! (sighs) Just tell me where you put it.

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